There are different levels of crazy. Everyone in my family is certifiable, but we each occupy different rungs on the ladder of insanity. The top rung in my mind has always been firmly held by my grandfather, my mom’s dad, although in retrospect I recognize that he and his siblings may have an entire tower all to themselves. After all, it’s hard to compete for that top spot when your sister has managed to end up at sea with the Coast Guard after a one night stand with a sailor, forcing them to divert course and drop her off at the nearest port. It’s also hard to beat a brother who didn’t leave his house for twenty years, or the myriad others with substance abuse issues of all sorts, but I still believe my grandpa holds his own nonetheless.
He was from an extremely poor family in rural Arkansas and grew up with eight brothers and sisters. He never forgot growing up hungry or sharing a bed with all those siblings. That feeling of being cramped next to so many people never left him, and he blamed his hatred of crowded areas on this experience. It makes sense, but I doubt that’s the true origin of his phobia, mostly because social anxiety pops up in multiple members of the family. The distaste toward being touched by just about anyone is carried forward in both my mom and me, and god knows I was never forced to cuddle with anyone against my will. Continue reading “Insane in the Brain”
